The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant. Manning, her aunt and father, neighbors, customs, traditions, forces. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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